Fallen Hero
by TerraZeal
Summary: A human priest becomes a worgen in an accident and has to deal with his new state of being. R/R.


_Fallen Hero_

Dorian had been a hero of the alliance. He had been there when the Lich King fell under the blows and spells of his friends, he himself aiding them with his faith in the holy Light and his strong priestly discipline. He had served the alliance as long as he could remember. Wanting to be a paladin from boyhood, he had tried to go down that path, but realized it was not for him and that he would be better put to serving the Light as a priest. Dorian had gone to the chapel in Stormwind and studied under one of the Archbishop's most trusted high priests. He had become a priest of great power and renown. All factions of the glorious Alliance knew and respected him and his faith in the Light. Then they came. The worgen. Brought into his Alliance by the Night Elves, with whom the humans were on cool, if not slightly unfriendly terms. Dorian himself had friends among the night elves, even though they were still distant to him. As a human, he was short lived and they were immortal; he did not blame them for keeping all humans at a distance when it came to close friendships.

Despite his cool friendship with the night elves, he still did not forgive them. Not for the monsters they brought into the alliance. For what they did to him in the end. The worgen king, Genn Greymane, swore that his people were calm and under control since the antidote that gave them back their humanity, or what was left of it. Dorian knew now that that was a lie. Their bloodlust and viciousness never went away, never left them. Knew from personal experience. One night, while leaving the chapel in Stormwind for a nightly walk to take in the fresh air (well away from the Dwarven District, which had no fresh air to speak of, it all smelled either like ale or something on fire), Dorian had come into contact with a worgen. It wasn't calm and collected like King Greymane had said his people were. The worgen savagely attacked the priest, even though he used all his power to attempt to fend him off, it wasn't enough. The worgen's superior strength was too much for Dorian. The Light had failed him for the first time in nearly thirty odd years.

The priest woke up in a bed in the chapel, his wounds having been healed by the Archbishop himself. King Greymane himself was there to apologize to the priest. Apologies meant nothing to Dorian now. At first, he accepted the apology and went on about his business. Soon, he began to notice odd things happening to him. An anger and viciousness that wasn't there before plagued him. He wanted to attack and harm many of the students he had taken to teaching. As a well known priest to all factions of the alliance, he had settled down as a teacher after the fall of the Lich King, and very much enjoyed imparting the joys of the Light to new priests, of all races. Then it happened. One night, Dorian jerked awake in bed, panting, body writhing in pain. Glancing out the window, Dorian saw a glowing ball of light. The full moon. Or Elune, as the Night Elves called it. The moon called to him as it hadn't before. He had no idea what this was. What this pain and longing was. Gasping and panting, body wracked with an unknown pain, Dorian stumbled out of the chapel. He knew he had to get away, somehow. Perhaps it was the Light telling him.

He made it to Elwynn Forest before the change happened. Pain like he had never imagined took over his body. Bones and flesh twisted and changed. Red haze clouded his vision. He wanted to rip, maim, tear, kill. Dorian had no recollection of that night. He awoke in a field near Maclure Vinyards, blood and dead animals surrounding him. Fear overcame him. What had he done? What had happened? That was when he noticed King Greymane and that apothecary, Krennan Aranas, along with members of the Stormwind Royal Guard surrounding him. Greymane merely looked at him sadly, almost apologetically. Aranas held an empty vial in his hands. That was when Dorian noticed a foul taste in his mouth. Had Aranas poisoned him, then? What had happened here? At the time, Dorian did not know. Greymane bent down, almost kneeling in the blood and carnage.

"Priest, I am so very sorry...I...we didn't know. I didn't know. I thought I had all my people under control. I thought nothing like this would happen, especially not here in Stormwind. I am so sorry, priest. His Majesty, King Varian, tells me that you are called Dorian and partially responsible for the fall of the Lich King. A great hero indeed. I am sorry this happened to you. Dorian...if I may call you that...the curse...when you were attacked, it was passed on to you. I don't know how or why one of my people would do that. We've searched the city and found nothing. King Wrynn wants the culprit who did this to you found. My chemist, Krennan Aranas, has done a great deal for my people, and now for you. The guard sedated you with sleeping spells before you could harm any more than animals and Aranas administered the potion. Its...its only a partial antidote. You won't be fully human. Not yet. Aranas is still working on it. And he will keep doing so. Until them, you'll be like the rest of them. Not fully human, but able to control your worgen nature, until you are forced to fight. Even Aranas could not quench that bloodthirst. When you fight, the wolf in you will come out. Please, priest, forgive me."

Greymane turned away, as if ashamed. The once-proud king leapt upon a nearby mount and fled back to Stormwind before Dorian could say anything else or even respond. Aranas sighed sadly and he too left. The guard grabbed Dorian by the arms and tossed him a blanket. He was naked. Of course, more humiliation. Apparently, the fine silk cloth robes he had worn had not transformed with him. Transformed. By the Light. Dorian was no longer human. He was a beast...a monster. Shivering, he let the guards lead him back into the city. It seemed as if all of Stormwind knew of what happened. They looked at him and whispered or turned their heads. The other worgen looked at him sympathetically, but he was not a Gilnean by birth, and their people were reclusive. He would find no comfort with them. The people who had called him hero now shunned him. Dorian was truly alone. He felt as if the Light had forsaken him. Despair crept upon him. Even though he was in his late forties, Dorian cried that night once he was back in the chapel in his room. Sobbed harder than he had ever done, even when his parents had been killed by the Scourge. Despair...he was no longer Dorian. He had been transformed, and even though the Light still answered him, the call of shadow was stronger. The beast within him, only barely controlled, reveled at the thought of calling and using shadow magic, wicked, dark magic, to destroy his enemies. He was no longer Dorian. He was...Wanhope. In an ancient human language, Wanhope meant despair and lack of hope. He had no hope, all he had was despair and the beast within him. He was Wanhope the Kingslayer. Ambassador Wanhope. No longer Dorian. Wanhope the Kingslayer answered the call weeks later, when Deathwing broke the world. He hadn't wanted to. He had wanted to just stay in the chapel, but many of his students looked for another teacher once they learned of his curse. At least the worgen transformation had gotten rid of his grey hair. It was back to its natural black. Wanhope laughed bitterly. One consolation. He no longer looked old. Wanhope approached the board set up near the bank. Hero's Call...he would answer. Perhaps, even though his former friends had shunned him, he could still be a hero. He would go to Hyjal. The shadow priest would answer the summons, even though he was sure he wasn't wanted.

Wanhope mounted his white drake. Albino, outcast...just like he was now. The drake nuzzled him affectionately. It belonged to no flight. It had been born to a bronze drake, but it had none of the time travel abilities they had nor none of the magic. It could only fly. Still, it spoke to him. The drake's name, given at birth by the bronze dragons, was Zeridormi. She was a beautiful drake and seemed to notice no change in him, or she didn't care. As a gift for helping them defeat the infinite dragon flight, the Bronze dragons had offered him one of their young drakes to help him find transport around Outland and Northrend. Instead of choosing a bronze drake as his companion, he had asked about the white drake, sulking in the corner. They had told him her story, and he asked her if she wanted to be his companion. She happily agreed, eager to leave the Caverns of Time, and went with Dorian. Since then, Zeri had been a constant companion. Even now, when others shunned him, Zeri was there for him. She knew something was different and bothering him. Dearest, what is wrong? You seem upset, worried...and not just about Neltharion's devastating return. Wanhope shook his dead. "Nevermind, Zeri. Sometimes, when I have to fight, I look like a beast. A wolfman. It was a curse. I'm different from other humans now. It doesn't matter anymore. I've come to terms with it. Don't worry. Lets just see what the Hero's Call wants, eh?" As you wish, dearest. Still, I think you would feel better if you talked about it. But I won't pressure you. As for being different, I know all about that. How do you think I felt, being born this way, looking like this, having no magic at all? I know what its like to be shunned. The white dragon nuzzled Wanhope again, giving him an affectionate dragon-purr, then took off. Zeri flew him to the corner of Stormwind, where he watched in the waters of farseeing what was happening in the Maelstrom.

Thrall, former Warchief of the hated Horde was single-handedly keeping the world from breaking as Draenor had broken. So powerful a shaman...it was indeed lucky he had no hatred for the Alliance. Wanhope pulled back from the bowl of seeing, Thrall's words still echoing in his ears. He shook his head and motioned for Zeri. She came when called, as always. Despite claiming no magic, she still had the ability to teleport and telepathy. When not carrying Wanhope around, she rested in Winterspring. The cold weather gave her no trouble and she enjoyed the scenery. The dragon touched down and Wanhope mounted her. He petted her crest affectionately. "Zeri, we must head to Moonglad and secure passage to Hyjal. It is being attack by Light knows what. They need our help. Even though they shunned me, even though they made me despair far worse than I ever have, I cannot abandon the Grand Alliance. I made a pledge. If not to the Alliance, then to the Light. I will do all I can to keep this world from breaking. Come Zeri. Let us go to Hyjal."

The white dragon took off, headed to Hyjal. Wanhope's last chance to regain the respect of his peers. His last chance of becoming Dorian again. If anyone could, Ysera could find a way to cure his curse. The Dreamer could make him whole again. As Zeri's wings beat the cool air, Wanhope felt a surge of hope he hadn't felt in ages. Once this was all over, maybe he would be Dorian again. Or maybe he would just stay Wanhope. It wasn't all bad. He looked younger, felt stronger, and moved faster. So he looked and acted like a beast sometimes. What was it women said? All men are beasts. Wanhope laughed, drawing a strange look from Zeri. For the first time in weeks, he was at peace with being Wanhope, worgen shadow priest.


End file.
